PSL 02: Fresh Air

[theansweris]

It took Ed four days, and most of that seemed to be waiting for approval from one office to go to the next office and get approved further along the line. Then they had to give appropriate notice and argue among themselves until it was agreed that it had to proceed, even with the objections from the DA and the GCPD.

The allowed clothing was restricted, but for the court appearance, Oswald was given some of his own clothes back, even if just his shirt, pants and jacket.

The session was mostly reading a list of the charges Oswald had been convicted of and the lawyer using Ed's neatly produced list to cite off why each of those was unsound and would require, at minimum, re-trial with due consideration to the burden of proof and threshold of prosecution.

It was a long, long session. But it ended with the conclusion that the state could not hold Oswald at this interval and thus

"-Mr Cobblepot, it is the finding of this court that your conviction was unsound and thus, you are free to leave this court. This is not a finding of not guilty, nor an absolution of charges, but a legal determination that the burden of proof has not been met."

There were reporters outside, of course. There were also several men in suits by a limo that was ready and waiting to whisk Oswald and his lawyer off.

From there, it was a drive. Out and to the Van Dahl manor, past the gates to keep out intruders and press and there, waiting on the stoop, was Ed, hands laced and a smile on his face as the car pulled up.

Comments

[hobblepot]

[Ed's reward for trying is a small, gently hopeful smile.]

Good, right? Now I won't be feeling quite so guilty if I end up devouring half this board.

[Relaxing, he spears a cherry tomato on the end of his toothpick. A refreshing burst of tart and sweet fills his mouth, so sorely missed.]

I thought the bland, mushy meatloaf and equally bland, mushy beans they were fond of serving was cruel and unusual punishment as far as food went. But the coleslaw... it was enough to give a man nightmares. I cannot decide what's worse - something drowning in vinegar, or in mayonnaise; the smell alone made me nauseous. [Another tomato.] It was so much easier just to go hungry.

[theansweris]

"Arkham's food hasn't really changed." It was the same fairly bland, neutral fare. "But we did get ice cream on occasion. I stopped getting it after I incited a riot during group therapy. When I started 'playing along', I asked for my reward to be library access instead."

That's far more likely Riddler than Ed and he reaches across for an olive.

[hobblepot]

[An uptick to his smile.] Choosing between brain freeze and a modicum of mental stimulation while trapped in a dreary hellhole? Kind of a no-brainer, really... if you'll pardon the pun.

[And yet if others were presented with both options, he'd be entirely unsurprised if the library proved unpopular.]

Besides -- what's that saying? A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips? [He lets out a scoffing laugh. Some spiced jam on a cracker has left a blood-like smudge over his chin.] The case for most people, at least. You, I imagine, are an exception with your... [pausing, his gaze flickers over him, thoughtful] ...rangy physique and efficient metabolism. [He's assuming the latter is true, anyway.]

[theansweris]

"The new therapist they brought in made the offer. She argued that universal rewards were ineffective; what I consider a reward compared to... Mr Tetch, for example, not the same."

Riddler shrugs and reaches to wipe the smudge away with his thumb, absently sucking it clean. "A mixture of lots of things. My metabolism burns too fast and my body is ill adapted to stress chemicals, making it burn faster."

[hobblepot]

[Mother would always swoop in to rub at his face with a handkerchief well into his adulthood, much to his squirming annoyance. But moms will be moms, and Ed isn't his, the gesture causing him to lose his place mid-sentence, blushing as he touches his fingers to his chin after the fact and boggles at him, wide-eyed. No tissues around, of course.]

[theansweris]

Riddler, with his customary confidence, continues on. "I'm usually in a state of heightened awareness, stress hormones, fight or flight reflex. Which actually is not fight or flight, that's simply the most common reaction men have to it. Women are more likely to flirt or freeze."

[hobblepot]

[He blinks at him, lost, like he's been tossed into a heavy conversation with no context whatsoever.]

What? [He huffs, shakes his head.] I'm sorry, what were we...?

[theansweris]

Riddler arches an eyebrow and picks up the bowl of feta stuffed olives. "It really doesn't matter. Have an olive, they're amazing."

[hobblepot]

Oh. [Looking at the bowl as if he never noticed it.] Yes. [He plucks one with a 'thank you', continuing to watch Ed as they chew.]

So... I suppose you'll be wanting to call it a night fairly soon. [Gently clearing his throat.] I mean, it has a been a long day for the both of us, you especially, with all the painstaking preparations you have made. I'd hate to keep you up.

[It's the nice thing to say, while trying to feel out Ed's intentions and get a sense of whether he has the energy or the will left to spend more of his time with him. As hungry as he is for company, he can't fault Ed if he's not quite as overtired and wired as he is still.]

[theansweris]

"Oswald, if you want to go to bed, you don't have to justify it. I'll be awake for hours yet. I never have slept much." And he sleeps less now, constantly on edge for the wardens and other prisoners.

He picks up another plate, this one with shaved honey smoked ham and soft cheese. "How about some of this?"

[hobblepot]

[Feeling a trickle of relief.]

Oh, no, I'm fine -- more so than I expected to be, honestly. I merely thought...

[He pauses at the offer, not needing long to consider it with plenty of room left in his stomach. The blend of flavours and textures, though simple, is downright heavenly, the whole meal reminiscent of the lunches and dinners he'd often sit down to in mom's kitchen. Sometimes it was just a plate of feta and tomatoes and cured slabs of meat from the one European delicatessen in Gotham that they'd nibble at together, with her all but pushing food at him, voicing her concerns over how skinny he was, how hard he worked.]

Mm! Very nice. Simple but delicious -- that's really all I can ask for.

[He looks down at himself, spotting a bit of cheese on his robe that somehow escaped him and picking it off, popping it into his mouth.]

[theansweris]

"That I might need rest, because I'm renowned for being able to slow down and take a break?" Riddler's voice was pure tease, but not vicious or cruel. "I'm fine. I want to run a couple of trials with a music box that I have an idea for."

It involves complicated forgery, a hallucinogenic he borrowed from a chemist and the right timing on the delivery mechanism.

"I'll cook something tomorrow. Maybe lunch. I'm expecting there to be a lot of phone calls and people trying to see you, so I've got someone screening phone calls, so you can pick who you want to speak to, if anyone."

[hobblepot]

I guess there really is no rest for the wicked, huh.

[But even as he says it, throwing his suit on and getting back to business feels like a distant concept even for him, a force of nature like himself with no patience to stand still for long. He's warm and fed and only just beginning to settle back into his own skin, still struggling to wrap his head around the fact that he is really home and not in immediate danger of being torn away from everything he loves, hauled back, thrashing, into his cell.

He chews a ragged shred of lip-skin, wondering if he should ask about the music box that he's sure Ed'll tell him about anyway, eventually. But he's only half-interested in it, if that. Unwilling to talk long into the night about work when he's desperate to make up for lost time in other ways, more meaningful ways, his chest knotting with a sharpening sense of urgency and all the things that go unsaid and with the fear that this relaxed moment of closeness and mutual enjoyment will slip away too soon if he sits and does nothing.]

As... fascinating as I'm sure your intentions are for the box, however, perhaps hearing about it can wait until tomorrow? [A frown wrinkles his brow.] I figure it's only fair that I give your thoughts my full and undivided attention.

[He looks between them, at their hands, and then back to Ed, unsure. It has suddenly become hard to swallow, spit sticking in his throat.]

Forgive me. [He attempts a smile - flickery-nervous and apologetic.] I suppose it's all still a little overwhelming for me, having come home to all this. ...And to you.

[It's no accident, when his fingertips skim the cushions, slowly, and find Ed's hand, grazing his knuckles.]

[theansweris]

"Oh. Of course. Though it may entail a trip to the Gotham museum, if you're interested in accompanying me some time." Just them and a building of priceless artefacts and Ed doing his best to behave and just study, because he really needs to try and not get locked up again so soon.

Ed glances to the brush of their hands and grasps Oswald's hand in what is definitely a reassuring grip between friends who have gone through a lot of shit. "No more work talk for tonight. Or revenge plotting. Though I'm afraid neither of us has a lot else we can discuss right now except for Blackgate and Arkham. Which aren't the most pleasant topics."

[hobblepot]

[He studies the shape of Ed's hand, his pianist's fingers, while sucking in a long, trembling breath. And for neither the first time nor the last, he wonders how such blatant hinting on his part could slip under Ed's radar. But Ed's a man of science and logic, he tells himself - and love is messy, crazy, defying sense and self preservation instincts. His heart should know better by now, for all the ways he's been hurt and would be hurt. But it keeps its own time, as Ed told him once. Beats hard and heavy for a man who could go through his whole life never hearing it.]

Actually... there is something I've been meaning to tell you for quite some time. Something that I can no longer silence.

[For a moment it feels like they're standing by his desk again as mayor and chief of staff, his lips parted and his throat bobbing helplessly, unable to get a word out. He looks up, looks for help in Ed's face. It shouldn't be this hard when he already knows what to expect.]

The truth is... is that I care for you, Ed, as more than a friend. I, I love you.

[It's not a declaration like the sort that people in cliched romances shout from the rooftops, but pathetic and small despite months of being locked away, thrashing inside him; he can barely hear himself over his own thundering pulse.]

In fact, I've never stopped -- I couldn't to save my life!

[He barks out a broken laugh, his smile draining from his face.]

I understand if your feelings on the matter have not changed. In fact, I would not expect that they have. You've made it abundantly clear where you stand, and I -- [he chokes, the words scraping his throat like broken glass] -- I've made my peace with that. [Closing his eye.] I just... I thought you should know. And what I also want you to know is that I value the gift of our friendship and I rest easy knowing I have someone at my side who I can trust.

[theansweris]

The tragedy of their past: Both of them in love, but never at the same time. At least, not Oswald and Ed. Oswald and Riddler was another matter entirely, but Riddler is waiting to see what Ed does and says.

Because Riddler saw this coming. Ed just felt anxiety, unsure why, before Oswald confessed. Again.

Ed is quiet a moment. He's been with women, but for all his protesting and declarations, he doesn't actually know if he loved any of them. He loved the idea of them, but they didn't haunt him. He didn't spend his every spare moment thinking about them, for better or worse.

"I- don't know what love really is," he finally admits. "I know I told you love is sacrifice, but I don't actually... know that. I was just angry that you took away my chance to be-

"Be-"

What his father had told him he should be and never would be.

The realisation hurts.

"I think I've been trying to be what someone else told me to be," he says quietly.

"The boy finally gets a clue," Riddler crows. "It's always been about pleasing someone who would've rather seen you dead." Riddler turns to Oswald, pushing Ed down while he's too shocked to resist. "He's an idiot, but I'm not. I have even less idea what love is, but you, Oswald, are my obsession."

And from Riddler... that's almost the same.

[hobblepot]

[He stares, mouth working soundlessly, while hazily processing what Ed is - or rather, was - telling him before the Riddler persona hijacked his body. He's unsure what obsession means for them or for him, or what he should feel other than an anxious trill in his guts - a sensation not unlike the one that follows the barrel of a gun pressing to his back, cocking.]

I want to talk to Ed. [Oswald says, licking his lips, as if it's as simple as putting someone else on the phone.]

[theansweris]

"Why?" Riddler leans in closer. "Haven't I always been the one you could rely on? Who made you that origami penguin in Arkham? Who stopped Ed killing you at the dock?" Riddler pushes his glasses up his nose.

[hobblepot]

[Oswald meets his gaze unflinchingly, his pulse quickening, though his body yields slightly to Riddler's advance on its own. He hasn't moved to free his hand, hasn't tried.]

I get that you two are a package deal, but he was talking to me first. Kinda rude to interrupt, you know?

[theansweris]

Riddler pouts.

He might claim it's something else, but it's a distinct pout and will probably be followed up with sulking.

"But... I'm far more charming."

[hobblepot]

You've got panache - no one's debating that. But right now? I really wouldn't mind chatting with Eddie, even if he can be a little slow up on the uptake... concerning matters of the heart, at least.

[He slides his hand out from under Ed's to fold his arms, glancing aside, a sullen set to his jaw.]

Let's just say that there were several louts behind bars who were "obsessed" with me in their own way. [It's not a direct comparison - he has no reason to believe Riddler would want to terrify and hurt him. But he imagines he'd feel more comfortable exploring emotions around someone about as awkward and anxious as he is in the moment, more on his level than Riddler is.]

Not that I believe that your... intentions for me align with theirs, because I'm more than certain they don't. But I'd rather not think about what I managed to escape.

[theansweris]

Riddler recoils, then slides down to one knee in front of Oswald. "I would never- I will visit pain a thousand fold of whatever they did to you-

"Not, now, Riddler."

He glances to the side and then up, gaze softer. Still sharp, but softer. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to- Neither of us would hurt you these days, not intentionally." He slides up onto the couch again. "I'm sorry, he just got excited and I panicked a bit and-"

And when Ed freaked out, Riddler threw himself to the foreground.

"I have never been loved in my life, Or if I was, no one ever told me that before you. No, I'm okay, really, I can do this. If you let me." He pauses. "Thank you. So, I don't know what love is, just what I saw and read in pop culture."

[hobblepot]

[Some small but stubbornly resilient part of him expects to be laughed at, to hear an off-colour soap joke reminding him of how small and weak he can be without his guns, his men. But what he gets humbles him; all the support he had needed behind bars, lying in bed and crawling into a far corner of his mind when it was too dark to read, waiting for the hours to pass. He's quiet a while, contemplating Ed with a soft, tired look. His eye gleams as it catches the light.]

Well, I'm hardly a leading authority on romantic love - I've never even been in a relationship. [He chokes out a mocking laugh.] When the only people attempting to seduce you are your own stepsister and Sofia Falcone, it kinda says something. ...And I won't pretend that my reasons for being alone are a mystery to me.

[He sniffs, his lips pinching as he looks Ed over. What his parents offered him is his only frame of reference but it's sad to think Ed may not even know that much.]

I have seen how easy it can be to fall for the illusion of what one imagines love to be like, or the idea of love itself. [A furrow appears between his brows, as if all this is only just occurring to him.] I was so... consumed by my own loneliness, I did not stop to consider whether you truly wanted me at all. I suppose I didn't really care so long as I had someone for myself. ...But you were right. [Swallowing.] Not only that, but I believe that you know more about love than you realize.

[A beat.]

You, Edward Nygma, against every logic-driven fibre of your being, gave up that submarine and the perfect escape to join me in the fight for this city - you made this choice with the knowledge that you might not have come out of it alive. And if that is not love, then... [he tosses his hands helplessly, smiling] ...I guess I have no idea what I'm talking about.

[theansweris]

Oswald is not weak without his gun and men. He has killed people with umbrellas, filleting knives and gold clubs. He once beat a man to death with a poker and cut off an ally's hand just to further his own plans. Oswald is many, many things, but weak has never been something Ed or Riddler associate with him.

Ed's sole reference for love was books and tv shows, which wasn't really a healthy way of learning about love. His parents didn't love each other or him. Riddler and he never loved each other, they simply were to one another.

"Oswald... we tried to romance you. Riddler and I. With Chinese and someone who wronged you. It was something we thought we'd enjoy and-" And it had been the first time they both wanted something, even if they didn't really understand what they wanted. "If you'd kissed me that night on the stage of the Sirens, I think we would've kissed you back."

[hobblepot]

...I had no idea.

[His shoulders soften and he drops his arms, never realizing, as his chest folds in on itself, that it could hurt to know he was enough. That he had been enough to Ed from the start and that he had been so close to having him, to avoiding the violent back and forth that had robbed them both of so much time and energy they'd never get back.]

But I guess it doesn't matter now. [Or so he tells himself, over and over, waiting for the day when it will finally stick and he'll find peace, closure.] I... assume that ship has sailed?

[It's not meant to be a question at all, but his tone just barely makes it one, a cautious, childishly hopeful one, while the rest of him braces for the rejection he's had a long time to try and build himself up against. Still, sensing a gut-stab was coming has never made it hurt any less.]